


Isn't There a White Knight

by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5 Things, As if they all aren't nerds, Gen, Kink Meme, Shiro is a nerd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7975522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink Meme FIll: "In the first episode, Lance says that Shiro is his hero. But Shiro is still just a guy in his mid twenties, and we've seen him join in on silly stuff ("Blam blam blam!").</p>
<p>So what I want is five times Lance sees Shiro do dorky, ridiculous things, and one time he realizes he'd still follow this dork to Hell and back."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>C'mon, as if I could pass that up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doodle Pad

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is not in canon with my continuity but it draws from the same pool of ideas, so they don't contradict, either.

The thing was, Shiro was really good at fooling them.

Mind, they all were good at that. All seven of them had... stuff they tried to not let the others see. But it was hard when you were living in each other’s pockets, and it was easy to get at least a sense of what you weren’t seeing behind the scenes. The fact that Shiro and Pidge barely slept was a poorly kept secret, and Keith’s life on Earth, whatever the hell it had been, was a huge sore spot that everyone just gave wide berth for the moment. Who even knew the amount of stuff Allura and Coran kept to themselves, and Lance and Hunk were... well, they didn’t have the flashy backstories. There were just trying to keep up and deal as it came, and Lance tried to keep a smile up through it all.

Still, stuff slipped through the cracks, and that was especially true of Shiro, among the paladins. The rest of them were peers. They’d had the same classes with the same instructors and the same classmates, and even if their skills weren’t the same, they mostly felt like equals. Lance had no problems bursting into their space and demanding their attention for whatever reason, usually out of boredom. Hell, Pidge and Hunk needed it, when they fell into one of their inventing fugue states, and if he didn’t do it to Keith, who the hell would?

Shiro, though, had distance to him. Necessary, maybe. A by-product of being the leader, and being older, and having experiences the rest of them couldn’t really understand the way they could each other. And that wasn’t a bad thing. It was nice, usually. He wasn’t cold or unapproachable or alien (metaphorically or literally), and so it never felt like a problem to approach him. Just that Lance wasn’t going to pound on his door at 11 PM because he was bored and did they want to tell ghost stories with him? 

So Shiro got a little extra wiggle room in hiding stuff from the rest of them. His room was a bit more off-limits, he got more privacy, he was more able to wave things off. It was understood and usually they could compensate if something went wrong.

What it boiled down to today was that Lance never once thought Shiro was doing anything but taking diligent notes.

Recently, Coran had decided to hold his own lessons, on the history of the lions and what the original paladins had done for training and learned through trial and error. Which sounded interesting until one factored in that it was Coran, and that they weren’t doing any of the stuff he was talking about. Just listening to him, like it was a history lecture, and he just droned on and on and went on tangent and tangent and Lance. Did. Not. Care. Anymore.

By about half way through, they had nigh-completely zoned out, with the exception of Shiro, who had come armed with several pens and what looked like grid paper, and had been studiously writing the whole time. And Lance had mused that Shiro had been goddamn obnoxious to have in class, because he was probably that guy who wrote down every word and asked clarifying questions with three minutes left before they got to leave.

(Later, Lance would share that thought with the others, and Keith would laugh at him. Full on belly laugh, and wouldn’t stop until Lance smacked him with a pillow and started a full scale pillow war. After, he refused to explain what was so funny.)

But then Shiro shifted, and his arm pushed one of the loose papers up, and Lance had been able to see about a quarter of it before he fixed it.

There wasn’t a single word on that piece of paper. It was covered in doodles. And not just normal doodles either, like stick figures or flowers or the things that appeared in the margins of Lance’s notepads. Shiro had been doodling fractals.

At after that, Shiro’s writing became less annoying and more fascinating. It was a delicate balance, the way glanced up like he was listening, expression calm and attentive, and then went right back to bending over the paper and no doubt absorbing not a single word.

Part of the way Shiro got away with stuff was that he just... seemed above it. He was a bonafide hero, after.

The fact that he could be that person and still be the kind of devious to look totally innocent while ignoring a lecture made Lance’s admiration for him soar, not plummet. It was exactly the kind of poker face Lance would love to have, but had never managed.

So, once they were finally freed from their hell, Lance sided up to Shiro, movements lose and overly casual and lips curled in a smirk. Shiro instantly tensed and shot him a narrow look, already suspicious.

Well, too bad, because Lance wasn’t the one who had been goofing off while looking like Mr-Professional-Black-Paladin, so there.

“You took notes the whole time?” Lance asked, head tilted and eyes wide and faux-innocent. “How’d you pay attention?”

Shiro set up jaw and drew himself up, visibly putting on his leader posture like a superhero would done their costume. Except this time Lance wasn’t fooled by it. “It’s very important that we master this all as fast as possible. We don’t have time to develop by trial and error, so any resources we have-”

“Can I see them?”

Shiro froze, just for half a second. If Lance hadn’t been looking for it, he wouldn’t have noticed. “Why weren’t you taking your own?’

Shrugging, Lance’s smirk grew. “I didn’t know there’d be so many planet names. I’ll bring notes next time. So can I see them?”

This time, Shiro actually glanced away, like he couldn’t quite manage to meet Lance’s eyes. If it had been anyone else, he would have been blushing. “They’re messy now, I should copy them down for you so you can read them better, then I’ll- hey!”

At that point, Lance gave up and made a grab for the stack of pages. He managed to pull them out of Shiro’s natural hand, with the skills he’d developed both playing and being the victim of keep away from all his siblings, but the metal one kept hold.

It didn’t matter. Lance could still see. The page on top was _covered_ in parabolic curves, completely covering the space.

Slowly, Lance stared up at Shiro, one brow rising. And amazingly, wonderfully, he could see the tips of Shiro’s ears going pink in the beginnings of a blush.

“It’s very important that we master this all as fast as possible, huh?”

Yanking the pages back, Shiro clutched them to his chest. “It is,” he insisted. “But it was pretty hard to listen to Coran talk for two hours, I’ll admit that.” He visibly gave up, shoulders slumping back down to relaxed and offering Lance a smile that only curved up half his face. Like that, he looked so much less like their commanding officer and more like... well, like a kind of dorky upperclassmen.

Chest warming fondly, Lance patted him on the arm. “Hey, none of us were paying attention, don’t worry about it.” He easily ignored Shiro’s grumbled comment that their lack of attention was reason enough to worry. “I have a bigger problem with your doodles, dude. Fractals? Parabolic curves? What’s all this math crap? Where’s the corner of the page flip books? The stick figure sword fights?”

Shiro rolled his eyes, then looked thoughtful. He thumbed through the pages, head tilted. “I could do a flip book with the growing fractals.”

“No!” Lance cried, waggling a finger at him. “Wrong. See, your problem is that your doodles are too think-y. Doodles are supposed to be the opposite of think-y.”

Watching him with one brow raised, Shiro managed to look annoyed and fond at the same time. “Oh, please, tell me more about how wrong my doodling habits are.”

“Gladly,” Lance replied, snagging Shiro’s wrist and tugging him along behind him. “First lesson, colors are better than no colors. I have those coloring stick things, and Hunk has a bunch of colored pens. Let’s go.”

Letting himself be lead down the hall, Shiro let out a distinctly sarcastic snort. “Golly, I’m saved from my horrible habits.”

Lance smirked. “Not yet you’re not, but you’ll get there.” He tilted his head back to shoot Shiro a wide grin. “We’ll save you, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”

The resulting smack over the head with a pad of graph paper was very worth it.


	2. Star Trek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy 50th, from Shiro, Pidge and Hunk.

“C’mon, man, stay with me.” Lance reached out to cup the back of Shiro’s head, because he was kind of limp and flopping back and it didn’t look comfortable, but then he hesitated and brought it back instead.

He just didn’t see a good place to hold Shiro. Not without hurting him. 

The forest they were in was dense and dark, and everything had a layer of something that looked almost like brown-orange moss. It made the whole place difficult enough to walk during the day, when they’d been trying to spy on the Galra outpost. In the dark, while running away from those same soldiers, it turned out to be deadly.

A shot from one of the soldiers had made Shiro pivot suddenly to avoid gaining a new hole in his side, and the movement had knocked Lance’s shoulder. On normal footing, it wouldn’t have phased him at all, but his feet had slid from even that tap, and his flailing had knocked Shiro right back, and when Shiro had tried to grab hold of Lance just as he tried to compensate for his lost balance, the resulting cross-purposes had send them both tumbling down the side of the rocks and into a creek below.

Lance had a sneaking suspicion he’d given his ankle more than a nasty twist on the way down, and his stomach was no doubt a horrific bruise already. But he’d survived the fall relatively intact, all things considered. 

Shiro hadn’t been so lucky. On the way day, he must have cracked his head against the rock face, because he was visibly battered even under the helmet, and the landing hadn’t done him any more favors. He was sluggish, and if he didn’t have a pretty nasty concussion, Lance was going to be stunned. 

The one bright spot had come when Lance had discovered that the running water had dug a neat little crevice in the bottom of the rock, which was enough for him to tuck them both into, even with his pains and bumps and bruises, and that seemed enough to hide them from the Galra. Whatever equipment they had didn’t work on this planet from the sheer volume of quintessence. 

Of course, that meant the lions were having trouble too. Coran had said something about triangulation and the superior scanners on the castle, which basically meant the others had to fly around until they got lucky and gave the castle a clear shot of them.

Which left him to deal with Shiro. A Shiro who was distinctly out of it.

Normally, this would have been horrific. Terrifying. And it was, kinda. Except apparently a concussed Shiro was a chatty Shiro, and it had been a simple matter to get him talking about being a student at the Garrison. At first, this had been to keep him from going into some kind of flashback. But now? Now, Shiro had started telling stories about Keith. Wonderful, wonderful stories.

“C’mon, man, stay with me,” Lance encouraged, as Shiro trailed off and seemed to flag. Not only did he want to hear the end of the story, but when Shiro was talking he wasn’t falling asleep, which he vaguely remembered hearing that people with concussions shouldn’t do. “Then what’d he do?”

Shiro cracked a smile, eyes distant but fond. “Didn’t even notice. Had this big chunk of his bangs missing and just kept following me around the halls, talking about the relative speeds of different practice ships.” He chuckled warmly. “Took the long way around just to get to keep seeing it.”

“I hate everything,” Keith muttered, tinny and distant in the helmets. “I especially hate you, Lance.”

Shiro only laughed, but Lance pouted. “I’m not the one telling the story! Or who cut off half my own hair.”

“You’re encouraging him!” Keith snapped back.

Pidge laughed quietly, and even without her there, Lance could just see her smirk. “It’s amazing how many of these stories begin and end with ‘Keith was following me around after class’.” When Keith let out a pained groan, her laughter just got louder.

“Mmm,” Shiro agreed. “Matt kept calling him ‘that little duckling cadet of yours’ on the trip to Kerberos.” There was a moment of dead silence over the comms, because it was rare for Shiro to drop that kind of comment so openly. But he just smiled, not seeming to notice the change at all. “I know he knew his name, ‘cause I said it to him a dozen times, but it was always ‘your cadet’.”

Clearing his throat, Hunk paused, clearly casting for something to say. “Uh, Shiro?” He got an obliging hum in return. “Did, uh... did you do any programs other than pilot training?”

Shiro paused, then shook his head. Which made him groan, and it took a moment for him to focus again, while Lance hovered over him and tried not to touch anything that could hurt him. “Nope. Always wanted to be a pilot. You know, explore new worlds. Seek out new life, new civilizations. To boldly go where no one has gone before.”

Immediately, Hunk let out a delighted gasp, and Lance groaned. 

“Is that from something?” Keith asked, sounding deeply suspicious, just as Hunk and Pidge both started to enthusiastically sing the instrumental opening, leaving Keith even more confused.

Leaning over Shiro, Lance shot him a mournful look. “Shiro, my man, you’ve disappointed me today.”

“Why?” Shiro gazed up at him, looking so honestly worried that he’d hurt Lance’s feelings somehow that Lance nearly felt bad for the opening. Nearly.

Resting a hand dramatically on his chest, Lance met his eyes. “Star Trek? You disappoint me. Star Wars is the clearly superior choice.”

For a moment, Shiro just stared back, then he pouted. Actually _pouted_ at him. “I can like both.”

“Lies! Pick a side,” Lance shot back, jabbing his finger forward. “You gotta stand for something in this world, man. You gotta make a statement.”

Shiro seemed to consider that, then he met Lance’s gaze right back. “Then I stand for Star Trek.”

And then he stuck his tongue out at Lance.

The absurdity of the situation hit Lance all at once. He was on an alien planet with stupid orange moss, while his teammates from the Garrison sang the Star Trek theme as loudly as they could, ignoring every question from Keith, Allura or Coran, while he and Shiro had an argument about Star Trek versus Star Wars, and now their calm, responsible, deeply concussed leader was sticking out his tongue at him like a ten year old.

Lance burst into giggles, muffling it with his hand just in case some of the Galra happened to be nearby. Meanwhile, Shiro started to hum along with Pidge and Hunk.

“Okay, I’m getting lower. It’s worth the risk of getting shot to end the singing faster,” Keith muttered.

Hunk gasped dramatically. “Are you insulting my beautiful singing, Keith?”

“Yeah,” Pidge chirped smugly. “Are you insulting his beautiful singing, Keith?”

Before Lance could get his laughter under control and join in, Shiro spoke up. “Don’t insult his beautiful singing, Keith.”

“If the Galra could please shoot me, that’d be great,” Keith muttered. There was beeping on the helmets as their positions were successfully detected, and overhead Lance could just barely see the Red Lion through the tops of the trees. “Oh, good. Sweet release.”

“What on Earth makes you think that’s gunna stop us from making Star Trek jokes?” Pidge asked.

Keith let out a growl. “We’re not even on Earth!”

Biting his bottom lip, Lance glanced over at Shiro. He met Lance’s gaze for a second, then his lips curled up. “Baah, baaah, babahbah baaaa...” He started, quiet but gaining steam.

The resulting groan of frustration set Lance off again, and he grinned at Shiro, who beamed right back.

He could have done without the concussion and bruising, but this? This was Lance’s favorite mission _ever_.


	3. Jokes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro has a lame sense of humor, pass it on.

Being a Paladin of Voltron had shitty hours and worse holidays.

After all, it wasn’t like they got to call up the Galra and ask them to knock off the universe conquering shit for the day so they could sleep in. Weekends were a foreign concept, not least of which because there weren’t exactly weeks in space. There weren’t even days, really, other than what they imposed on themselves, unless they were planetside.

Once in awhile thought, they got an As-Good-As-A-Day-Off, which was very much _not_ as good, but Lance would take what he could get. There would be a day where they were traveling, and it was going to be a long time in a wormhole or they had to stop early to avoid detection or whatever the hell reason, and it was declared that, for once, they wouldn’t be training or being lectured or anything like that.

It didn’t mean they could be off their guard, and if something happened they needed to be ready, but they weren’t working to be busy, and they could at least attempt to destress, if only for a few stolen hours.

Lance was taking full advantage.

First, he’d slept in till 10 AM, which once upon a time had been the crack of dawn for a weekend, but now was a glorious luxury. Then, he’d taken an hour long shower, gleefully taking advantage of the fact that the castle had yet to run out of hot water, as far as he could tell. After a quick stop in the kitchen to pick up snacks, he’d set up shop for a fantastic pampering session in the rec room, which had the best sound system and the pseudo-TV.

Lance had discovered a few weeks in that Nunvil mixed with a vaguely citrus-esque juice they’d bought up on a trade planet, then chilled and given a thickening agent, became a would-be cream that worked just as well on human skin as it did on Altean hair. 

All in all, that left him sprawled out on the couch, face covered in a neon green mask of cream, wearing nothing but his robe and blue lion slippers, with soft, soothing music on like he was at his own personal spa.

Which was how he was in position to spot the rare and elusive off-duty Shiro.

Dressed in nothing but a thin long-sleeved shirt, baggy sweatpants and, of all things, a beanie, Shiro managed to look less like the leader they knew and more like one of the Garrison seniors after the testing binges. He padded out of the kitchen, carrying a bowl filled with... well, it wasn’t actually cereal. It was this odd crunchy stuff that Hunk had come up with, but it didn’t taste like any cereal Lance had ever heard of. It had a weirdly meat-y sort of flavor that Hunk had informed him was ‘umami’, which Lance was still pretty sure he’d made it up just to mess with him. But if one could ignore the taste, it had a satisfying crunch that felt cereal-esque.

Lance took a moment to enjoy the sight, because they never got to see Shiro on the days off. He squirreled himself away like Bigfoot, disappearing near entirely. Personally, Lance thought Shiro’s cryptid tendencies were part of why Keith and Pidge seemed to latch onto him so much. Conspiracies called to conspiracy theorists like moths to flame.

“Hey, Shiro,” Lance called, squirming over the couch and letting his head dangle over the armrest. Shiro’s head popped up, and he waggled his fingers in wordless greeting, mouth still full of the Crunchy Meat-Os.

...Lance needed a better name for that. Hm.

He stretched out with his foot and nudged the bowl of Nunvil-Face-Mask with his toes. “Wanna get your face pampered?”

Shiro seemed to consider it, glancing between the bowl and Lance’s face, then shook his head. He took a moment to swallow, then replied. “Not really. I can smell the Nunvil from here.” 

That was fair. The smell was pretty overpowering. Lance was only managing through the sheer power of his need for baby soft skin and a flawless complexion. “Alright.” But this was just too good an opportunity, and he didn’t want to let this rare experience go. So instead he cast around, looking for something else that could be fun, and spotted the little bottle of paint he’d left on the table. “Oh!” Sitting up, he picked it up and waggled it at Shiro. “This stuff? Basically nail polish. I was gunna try it out today. Wanna get your nails done?”

For a moment, Shiro just stared blandly. Then he lifted his metal hand and waggled the fingers.

Right. Probably not a great idea to paint that. It’d probably burn it off, and Lance didn’t want to know what that would smell like.

But Lance was nothing if not quick to improvise, so he just smirked. “I meant your toe nails.”

Honestly, Lance had mostly been angling to make Shiro laugh or at least snort. He didn’t expect Shiro to consider it, then shrug. “Yeah, okay.”

Fumbling the paint in his shock, Lance stared at him. “Really?” Then he caught himself and smiled widely to cover up the loss of composure. “I mean, of course, who wouldn’t want to?” He smirked and pointed at Shiro in finger gun style.

For a moment, Shiro just tilted his head. Then he seemed to give up on responding verbally and just sat down next to him on the couch, crunching away. Eventually he put down his bowl and reached for the little bottle, but Lance smacked it away. 

“I said get them done,” Lance pointed out. “Not do them.”

Shiro stared at him, head tilted. Then he shrugged, though there was a hint of wariness to his shoulders, now. “Yeah, okay. On here?” He wiggled his toes on the couch cushions.

“Eh, anything that gets on it will come out,” Lance replied, with totally undo confidence. “Now, I’d give you a choice, but I only brought one color, so you’re stuck with blue.”

Chuckling, Shiro ate another spoonful of his cereal. “I can live with that, I think.” He seemed to tense up when Lance leaned forward to start painting, but relaxed surprisingly quickly, still munching away. In this weird state, he didn’t seem to hold onto stress the way he did the rest of the time.

It was kind of special, to be let in like this.

“Alright, there we go,” Lance said, pulling back to admire his handiwork. The paint was smooth and only went off the nail in a couple of tiny places. And, yes, there were a couple tiny little dots of blue on the couch, but there were barely visible and Lance was sure they wouldn’t be a problem.

Wiggling his toes appreciatively, Shiro considered them and then nodded, still chewing. “Works for me.” Then he put the bowl down and gestured for the polish again. “Want me to do yours?”

Lance winced and shoved his feet under himself. When Shiro slowly drew his hand back, looking surprised and a little hurt, Lance winced. “No, I don’t mean- I don’t like people touching my feet, that’s all.”

Narrowing his eyes, Shiro considered him for a long moment. “Ticklish?”

Dammit. “No!” Lance insisted loudly, crossing his arms.

He was tense and prepared for the inevitable attack, honed by all his years of being a middle child, but Shiro just nodded and accepted that. “Alright, fine, no toe nails.”

“You could do my eyeliner instead,” Lance replied. “If you want.”

Shiro stared at him, and for a moment Lance thought he’d deny the skill. But then he just nodded. “Be right back.” Standing, he padded off, taking the bowl with him. He returned in a few minutes, this time without his food but with a couple of thin black tubes.

“Where’d you even get the eyeliner?” Lance asked, brows jumping. “I had to improvise all my stuff.”

Smirking, Shiro settled back in front of him and popped the cap on the eyeliner. “Asked Allura,” he replied. “Now, close your eyes and tilt your head up.”

Lance obeyed easily, chin up and shoulders relaxed. One of the reasons he’d never minded the beauty regimes his sisters liked to include him in on was the low-level magic feeling of someone gently applying makeup or creams to his face. It was such a gentle, intimate feeling and-

And that was not his eyes Shiro was drawing on.

His eyes popped open, but when he started to pull back, he realized Shiro’s hand on his shoulder was keeping him steadily in place. The whole thing lasted about three seconds before Lance was able to tilt his head back out of the way and jerk backwards. Ignoring Shiro’s laughter, he scrambled for his mirror and stared at his face.

Shiro had painted two perfectly even and symmetrically curved lines on his lips, giving him a handlebar mustache.

Squawking, Lance grabbed one of the pillows and smacked Shiro with it, which did nothing to stop the laugher. “My _face_!” He howled. “What kind of four year old shit is this?”

“It-” Shiro gasped, struggling to speak through both his chuckles and Lance’s swatting. “It suits you.”

Lance’s jaw dropped in outrage. “My facial hair would be way better than this. Take it back!”

His demands only set Shiro off harder, and he grabbed at his sides and teetered. The next smack of the pillow finally unbalanced him, and he fell backward against the other armrest, still gasping. Lance stared at him, clutching the pillow tightly. “It’s not nearly that funny, dude.”

“You’re so mad,” Shiro managed. “Can’t help it.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “I’m not just mad. You messed with my face, dude. I’m furious.”

Cracking his eyes open, Shiro winged his brows up. “Lance, we all knew you were a little bi-furious.” And then he set himself back off.

“That was terrible,” Lance informed him, not even justifying him with more pillow smacks. “Should I be grateful you didn’t go for ‘Hi furious, I’m Dad?’.”

Shiro’s eyes went wide. “Oh, that would have been good.”

This time, Lance threw the pillow, and it hit Shiro right in the face.


	4. Talk

Really, it was easy to forget how huge the Castle of Lions was. The seven of them stayed close by necessity - the Paladin quarters and the Royal quarters were both within a few minutes running range of both the control room and the lion’s entrances for obvious reasons.

The rest of it, though? They had barely seen it. There were the corners of the castle that hadn’t been seen by literally any living being for ten thousand years.

The benefit of that size, though, was that the castle never felt truly claustrophobic. Lonely and empty and creepy, sure. But when Lance was feeling too caged in, he could just run.

Literally.

He’d been jogging down a series of unused hallways that looped into one kilometer-ish section. And normally, Lance wouldn’t have the energy for this. Shiro had become fond of giving laps around the training room when someone was being trouble so, well, Lance did a lot of laps anyway. But today’s lesson had been all invisible walls with Allura, while Shiro wasn’t available.

Since the lions were such specific shapes, and because they wouldn’t move without a paladin around or in need, repairing one turned out to be a challenge. You needed to get to one of the legs, and the lion was sitting? Tough luck, better go get the paladin, because you couldn’t do jack shit about that.

It meant that they had to be there anytime the lions needed repairs. Which, thankfully, wasn’t that often. The paint alone was incredibly durable, much less the lions themselves. But the black lion had taken a beating in the last fight, crash landing hard into a mountain and a bolder shower for his troubles, so it was time for a tune-up.

And it was with that in mind that Lance paused when passing the repair bay, and happened to hear the murmuring.

Curious what all the chatting was about, Lance open the door, slowly and quietly as he could (to be polite, not to eavesdrop, of course), then stuck his head in.

It was Shiro who was talking, but Coran seemed to have left. And the tone was odd. Pitchy and weird. Brow furrowed in confusion, Lance listened harder, trying to pick up actual words.

“...we are, that’s all better, isn’t it?” Shiro continued, and at first Lance tried to figure out who the hell he was talking to. Then he realized it was the lion.

He was baby talking it.

Eyes wide, Lance clapped a hand over his mouth, fighting to keep back giggles as he listened in.

“All nice and clean now, yeah. No more nasty dust. I don’t think you liked that at all, oh no.” Shiro patted the lion on the top panel of its muzzle as he shut off the cleaning system. “And with a shiny new set of claws, too. Is that nice?”

He sounded about two seconds from calling the lion a good pet. Then, as Lance watched, he directed the repair platform up a little farther, and started to rub one of the giant mechanical ears as he gave the eye panels an inspection.

Shiro was giving the mechanical lion ear scritches. 

Finally pulling himself together, Lance waited until Shiro was busy messing with one of the control panels, still keeping up the monologue to the black lion. Then he slipped into the room and waited until he was right underneath. Then, casually as he could, he called up. “Hey, Shiro!”

Rather than jump or look guilty or anything, Shiro just glanced down. “Afternoon, Lance. Training with Allura go well?”

What? Where was the jumping? The embarrassment? No fair! Lance frowned. “Fine. It was the maze again.” Then, in case Shiro hadn’t realized he’d heard, he smirked up at him. “How goes repairs?”

“Basically all set.” He engaged the floating platform and it slowly spiraled down to the ground, taking all the repair tools with it. Once on the ground, Shiro reached up and scrubbed through his hair, letting loose a shower of dirt. Lance made a face and stepped back, not wanting to get dusty too. He was going to need to take a shower anyway, but still. Eugh. “Did you need anything?”

Lance shook his head. “Nah, I was just passing by and I heard talking. Figured I’d check in. If I’d known you were having a moment, I would have let you be.”

Eying him, Shiro snorted and leaned back against the black lion’s foreleg. “If you’re waiting for me to go red and take it back, I wouldn’t hold your breath.” He glanced up and smiled. “Besides, the lion likes it.”

Lance followed his gaze up and watched the impassive metal face of the lion dubiously. “Does it?” Then he tapped his temple and pointed up. “Are you two linked right now?”

“Nope, I just know,” Shiro replied, utterly shameless. He sighed and straightened out, then reached out to clap Lance’s shoulder. “Sorry, for the lack of reaction. I’ve been doing my own thing for way too long. I’ve long since stopped bothering being embarrassed over stuff that doesn’t matter. Pretty sure it’s part of growing up.”

Lance eyed him dubiously, but then he sighed. “Alright, fine, ruin my fun.”

“Haven’t you heard? That’s my favorite thing to do, to ruin people’s fun.” Shiro grinned at him and Lance went pink, because he’d been the one to jokingly accuse Shiro of that.

It had been one of the times he’d ended up running laps, come to think of it.

Suddenly, Shiro’s smile shifted into a smirk. He shifted his hand up into Lance’s hair and ruffled it roughly, dragging the strands forward into his face. Already sweat-damp, the strands stuck up and clung to his forehead, no doubt looking ridiculous.

“Hey!” Lance protested, flapping his hands at Shiro until he had to dodge out of the way and let go. “Dammit.” He pouted as he tried to flatten his hair back to normal. “What was that for.”

Shiro just shrugged. “For trying to humiliate your team leader,” he replied. “But since it didn’t work, you got off easy.” With a last shoulder pat, he stood back. “Alright, I need a shower, and you look like you could use one too. I’ll see you later.” He waved at the black lion as well. “Sleep well, sweetie.” With a last glance over his shoulder and a toothy grin that proved the comment had been for Lance’s benefit, not the lion’s, he slipped out the door.

Watching him go, Lance stared up at the black lion. “Is he hard to deal with for you too?” He considered, then snorted. “If your original paladin was Zarkon? Yeah. Yeah he must be.” That much concentrated Shiro-ness was hard enough to take when you didn’t have the opposite as a reference point. Shaking his head, Lance wandered out as well.

And he made a mental note to try talking to the blue lion during repairs a little more too, just to see.


	5. Magic

“Alright. Truth or dare?” Pidge asked Keith, leaning back on her hands. The bed sheets she and Hunk had rigged to the ceiling blocked out the glow of Altean technology, casting them all into shadow. Turned the rec room in from their normal crash spot into something, well, alien again.

Keith frowned. “Uh... dare?” He glanced at each of them, like he wasn’t sure that was the right answer to their trick question. Which, to be fair to him, he apparently had _no_ experience with this game. Which was what had prompted them to play in the first place.

Lips curling up in a smirk, Pidge pointed to Keith’s hands. “Take off your gloves. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without them.”

Keith frowned and pulled his hands close protectively. “What if I don’t want to? I like these.”

“We’re not going to steal them,” Hunk replied soothingly. “But you have to. You picked dare. You can’t say no to a dare.”

Frown deepening, Keith played with the cuffs of the gloves. “Why not? What do you do if I don’t?”

“That’s the rules,” Lance insisted. “And we’ll bug you forever. Are you gunna play or not?”

Keith glared up at him. “Doesn’t sound that different from normal.” But he obligingly peeled off the gloves and waggled his fingers at Pidge. “There. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” Pidge replied, all bland sarcasm. “Now you get to pick someone.”

Brow furrowed, Keith considered them all, like the fate of the world depended on making the right choice. Before he could go ahead and finally _pick someone, already_ , the front flap of their tent pulled open, and Shiro stuck his head in. He glanced around, confusion melting into amusement, then smiled. “Hey. Everything alright in here?”

Keith pointed at him. “Shiro! Truth or dare?”

Freezing, Shiro stared, then started to pull out. “Alright, everything seems fine, have fun.”

“No way!” Lance exclaimed, grabbing the flap and pulled it in. “Get in here. You’re not getting out of it that easy.” And because Shiro was giving him an unimpressed look, Lance gestured dramatically to Keith. “It’s his first time! Ever! You’ll traumatize him against truth or dare forever.”

“No, he wo-” Keith stopped when Pidge lobbed a pillow at him. “Agh, fine! You should stay, Shiro.”

For a moment, Shiro openly stared. Then he sighed and settled back down, sitting criss-cross by the entrance. “Alright, one question. It’s probably less fun with me here anyway.”

Lance glanced back at the others, then frowned at Shiro. “Why’s that?”

“These games are best without an authority figure,” Shiro replied with a shrug.

“You’re more than a commanding officer, though,” Hunk replied. “It’s not like you’re Commander Jones. Or, worse, Iverson.”

Chuckling, Shiro’s lips quirked up. “I hope not. But just one round, then I get to go, okay?” When he got a round of nods, he finally nodded back at Keith. “Truth.”

“Uh...” Keith’s brow furrowed, like he hadn’t expected that answer at all. “I don’t know what to ask. Pass?”

Lance smirked. “Well, normally you ask about-” glancing at Shiro again, Lance frowned. “Huh. It is weird to ask you who your crush is.”

“Told you,” Shiro replied. His expression was calm, but in the gloom there was just a hint of pink to his cheeks, maybe, and he glanced over in a way that was very nearly nervous, but not quite. “You can repick and I’ll slip out.”

“Hell no,” Pidge replied. “Still not getting out of it that easily. Someone else can suggest a question, then.”

Hunk raised his hand, like they were back in class. “I’ve got one. What’s the weirdest skill you have that’s gotten you out of trouble.”

Lance grinned. “Ooh, I like that one. Shiro getting in trouble sounds fun. Do that one!”

Shrugging, Keith flapped his still bare hand. “Yeah, okay. That one.”

“Uh... hm.” Shiro paused, fingers tapping against his ankle. “Probably magic tricks.”

That brought everyone to a halt. Then Lance beamed at the same time Keith groaned. “You can do magic?”

“Don’t encourage him,” Keith muttered, pulling a pillow to his face and flopping back onto the blankets. “Please, don’t.”

Shiro just smiled back. “I can. I was obsessed as a kid. I used to save up my allowance to get those special kits.”

“Show us,” Pidge called, ignoring Keith’s renewed groaning. “Let’s see some.”

Laughing, and looking just a bit delighted at the eager audience (which, Lance suspected, was at least partly due to Keith’s obvious familiarity and annoyance), Shiro nodded. “Sure. Though, it’s been a while. I’m not sure I can still do it all. Anyone have a deck of cards?”

Pidge turned and dug into her bag. She pulled out a deck, then placed it in Shiro’s hand. He started to shuffle it, and Lance got the feeling that he was using the moment to get back into the groove of it more than anything. 

Bored of watching, Lance finally asked, “So, what’d you use magic for, anyway? You never said.”

“Wasn’t part of the question,” Shiro replied easily. But before they could protest, he continued. “And I’ve used it a few times, actually. Mostly? When I was learning, I found out how to get out of handcuffs. I’ve used that a lot.”

Lance was about to ask when Shiro had been in handcuffs - bow chicka bow bow - when the obvious answer hit him and he froze.

He’d used it to escape the Galra, hadn’t he? Right before they’d met.

Swallowing, Lance glanced at the others and saw that it had hit them as well. Pidge’s eyes weren’t visible under her bangs, and Hunk’s fingers dug into his pillow. Keith had stopped his wordless complaints and was watching Shiro with new intensity.

Meanwhile, Shiro continued on, his concentration still on the cards he was shuffling. “You see, I had this girlfriend once, and she wanted to try out-” He cut off when Hunk choked, then glanced up at all of them, smirking. “I’m _kidding_. It was training. And then other times.” He shook his head and put down the deck of cards. “Got you to stop being quiet, though.”

Fair enough. Lance leaned over and nudged Shiro’s shoulders with him. “Alright, well, you gotta show us that one, after. First, card tricks.”

Nodding, Shiro picked up a card from the top of the deck - the 5 of hearts - and showed it to them. “Let’s start with something easy. How about I turn this card into something else.”

Keith still looked sulky, but this time he didn’t say a word, and the rest of them watched with varying levels of interest. Shiro held the card up with his metal hand, then reached up with his natural one and flicked the card’s corner.

It ripped it half under the force of his metal fingers.

Slowly, Shiro’s shoulders slumped. “Oh. Shit. Sorry.” The bottom half of the card fluttered to the ground, showing the 9 of clubs underneath it. “Did you bring these or print them here?”

“Printed them here,” Hunk replied quietly. “It’s fine, even if it was brought, we could make more.” He watched Shiro carefully for a moment, eyes bright even in the gloom. “You okay?”

Shiro nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. Probably should have seen that coming.” He flexed his fingers. “I think more tricks should wait until I’ve practiced a bit.”

“Well, when you do you’ll just have to show us,” Lance offered. “We’ll make a show out of it. And in the meantime, I really wanna learn how to get out of handcuffs. For reasons.” He waggled his brows at Shiro, trying to coax a smile out of him.

Keith snorted. “Like if another alien girl cuffs you to a tree and steals your lion?”

“Well, the first part,” Lance replied, grinning at Keith’s glare. “C’mon, Shiro, it’s a good skill.”

Finally smiling back, Shiro nodded. “Alright, tomorrow during training. It’s not exactly blanket fort friendly.” Then he put his hand on his thigh and started to stand. “And I think that’s my cue to leave you be.”

“Nope,” Pidge replied. “You have to ask someone else, and then you have to pick the question or dare.”

Finally catching on that they weren’t letting him go that easily, Shiro settled back down. “Alright, alright. Uh, Pidge, truth or dare?”

And when that round ended, they were able to convince Shiro to stay for another, then just one more, then wait till everyone’s done it, and then you have to do it again too. Until finally he stopped protesting and accepted that he was part of the group and they wanted him there, dammit.

Then the next day, when Shiro was supervising as they all tried to squirm their way out of various restraints, eagerly lecturing on Harry Houdini and various escape artists through the years, Lance kept glancing at his face and smiling.

Because this was the kind of man he wanted to lead them. Not the imaginary figure of Takashi Shirogane, ace pilot of the Kerberos mission, suave and cool and always in charge with the right answer. This man, who played truth or dare with them and argued for the merits of Star Trek, and who had the lamest sense of humor Lance had ever encountered. That was the kind of man he could eagerly follow across the galaxy.

Just as soon as he got out of these damn handcuffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed.
> 
> Hint: I cruise the Kink Meme pretty often, and a Shiro-focused 5 things is very likely to catch my attention, if you're interested. This includes smut.
> 
> Reminder that you can always follow me and talk to me at Bosstoaster.tumblr.com -finger guns-


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